The Best and Worst of Times
by theimportanceofcurves
Summary: What was supposed to be a valuable lesson in keeping Merlin alive takes a horrible, ironic turn for the worse, placing Merlin in a perilous situation at the hands of Arthur himself. Arthur must face the one enemy he truly fears the most: his own guilty conscience. Well, and perhaps a bit of magic...And poor Merlin just wanted the day off. Bromance and lots of whump!
1. Chapter 1

**My first Merlin fic! Thank you to all the fandom members who have been so kind to me and welcomed ****me into your community. This is just a light, spur of the moment piece I put together during a moment of deep Merlin/Arthur bromance and Merlin!whump craving. Set shortly after 4x06. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. All feedback is appreciated, I love reading reviews! Part 2 coming very soon. Cheers!**

**I do not own Merlin.**

Even with his eyes closed, Merlin could tell it was a glorious morning. Snuggled deep under his covers, his whole body (save for the tip of his nose) felt warm despite the crisp air in his bedroom, winter sunlight streaming through the window and touching his sharp cheeks. The sun had only just risen, and were it a regular work day, he would be rising right about now, sleepily shrugging on his threadbare jacket and ratty neckerchief in the frosty air and heading out to awaken his Royal Pratness. But today was no regular workday. The kingdom was preparing for its famous annual night joust, a tournament to span the week and take place only by torchlight at night. It was always a huge success, with knights from all over the land traveling to participate. Seeing as Arthur was the King as well as a participant in the tournament, he had been trailed day and night by a multitude of servants, all eager to prepare him for the event, much to the King's annoyance. After hours, days, months! of subtly begging Arthur for a day off, the stupid clotpole had finally dismissed him for the day, claiming to be sick of all servant's, especially Merlin's, idiotic faces and having nothing for him to do. And that was exactly what Merlin planned on accomplishing that day: nothing. Despite his dedication to the exhausting task of protecting Arthur day in and day out, Merlin simply couldn't resist the opportunity for a day of rest. It was just too tempting, and he couldn't imagine that Arthur would be able to get himself killed during the span of a mere 24 hours with so many of Camelot's best surrounding him constantly. Hell, Merlin had even convinced Gaius to relieve him of his chores, an unheard of circumstance which the boy refused to not take advantage of.

With a contented smile on his face and his eyes still closed, ruffled hair just peeking out from the covers, Merlin sighed pleasurably and prepared to do something he hadn't done since the day he had entered this world: sleep in. Slowly, gently, magnificently he sank deep, deep, deeper into the depths of ideal sleep, dreams of lovely maidens gradually beginning to form in his mind when suddenly-

_Splash!_

Merlin shot up in his bed as ice cold water came crashing down upon his unruly mop, gasping in shock and eventually fury as he wiped the liquid out of his eyes and stared straight into the smug, smirking, bucket-wielding face of the devil himself, Arthur Pendragon.

"Quit dreaming about me and get your scrawny arse out of bed, you lazy idiot. We've got work to do."

_Please let this be a nightmare_, Merlin groaned to himself. He caught a glimpse of Gaius peeking around the doorframe with a slight sympathetic half-smile on his lips.

"Sorry, m'boy", he said.

Gaius felt for his ward, he truly did. Despite being a great warlock, perhaps the greatest to ever live, one whose loyalty to the future king was unmatched by any other, Merlin was, after all, just a boy. And he was exhausted. He could see it etched into the dark circles under his eyes when he dragged himself through the door and to the dinner table each evening. The boy lived to serve, and he needed rest. At the end of the day, however, it was Arthur who had the final say, and who was Gaius to deny the king of Camelot?

Merlin sank back beneath his covers, taking in a mouth full of pillow and kicking his legs like an insolent child while he screamed.

"What. About. My. Day. _OFFFF!__**"**_

Arthur, dressed in full chain mail and armor, found himself enjoying this tantrum far too much. Sure, the manservant was stubborn and spoke out of turn nearly every single day, but he had never seen him lose control like this. Usually Arthur was the one resisting his wake up call.

"God, it's bad enough that you're already such a girl, _Mer_lin, don't be a toddler too. We haven't got the materials to spare a petticoat and a diaper. Meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes, and not a minute later, or I'll make sure every tomato in Camelot lands upon your head."

With an evil laugh he was out the door, and Merlin begrudgingly rose from his bed. Would it really be so bad if he failed his destiny? At least he would be able to sleep.

11 minutes later (today was a day of disobedience, Merlin had decided), and the young warlock rounded the corner into the courtyard to find Arthur standing between his and Merlin's horses.

_If this is a hunting trip, I'm gouging my own eyes out,_ Merlin thought to himself as he approached. Suddenly, a gleam caught his eye, and Merlin watched bewildered, as another manservant, small and grim-looking whom Merlin barely recognized stepped into view from behind Merlin's horse. He was carrying a second, slightly smaller set of armor that matched Arthur's exactly, save for the royal red cloak.

"Arthur, what in god's name _is_ this? And why has it required me to rise before dawn on my day off?"

"You really are the laziest moron in this kingdom, aren't you Merlin? If you would quit moaning for two seconds you might see that I'm trying to do you a favor. Knights don't complain about waking up early."

"Yes, well, it's a good thing I'm not a knight, then."

"Right, but you are going to finally learn how to fight like one. Suit up, Merlin."

Merlin gawked. The armor was for him? Arthur had never allowed him to put on chain mail before, let alone carry any sort of weapon. And now he was standing there in the middle of the empty courtyard as the manservant fastened a gleaming, beautiful sword to his waist.

"Well, this is certainly strange", Merlin said aloud as Arthur watched the process, smirking.

"What? You looking like a man?"

The manservant tightened the final strap on his armor and stepped away, relinquishing his support. Merlin immediately felt his knees buckle beneath him. He tottered to the side, nearly falling to the ground as the weight of the heavy clothing pressed upon his slight frame. In the back of his mind he felt a niggling of respect for Arthur and his ability to stoically wear this mammoth thing day in and day out.

"I take that back, then," Arthur cracked up as he watched his skinny manservant struggle to stay upright.

"It's interesting that you accuse me of being female on a daily basis and yet you have no problem allowing a servant to dress you in your pretentious garments every morning!" Merlin shouted.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, good one Merlin. Your dignity has been restored."

Merlin clumsily flopped about as he struggled to mount his horse. Arthur, on the other hand, gracefully swung himself up into his saddle with ease.

"What I meant is it's strange to have someone dressing _me_, rather than the other way around, clotpole. Arthur, what is the meaning of this? What are we doing?" Merlin sputtered between labored breaths, having finally gotten himself upright in his saddle. His annoyance had subsided into something akin to curiosity, and deeper down, apprehension. Had Arthur said he was going to be...fighting? Without his magic, Merlin was the first to admit that he was far from handy with a sword, as evidenced by the multiple brawls during which Merlin had opted to assist from the sidelines with his magic. That certainly wasn't going to be an option with Arthur in tow.

As they took off at a steady trot down the middle of the cobblestone courtyard side by side, Arthur began to explain.

"After your previous display of inadequacy at the hands of our enemies and the distress it caused to poor old Gaius, not to mention the fact that you nearly got the crowned king of Camelot killed in the process, I've decided it's time for you to learn some proper fighting skills. It's only logical, if you're going to continue to harass me with your presence. For God's sake, Guinevere's got more gall in her sword than you."

Merlin cringed, recalling the feel of the mace as it had stricken his chest during the attack in the forest. It had been the greatest pain he had ever been in, made even worse by the fact that he thought he was going to die and fail his destiny, only to be entrapped under the influence of Morgana and forced to try and assassinate Arthur. It had been an unfortunate day, maybe even worse than this one. Perhaps he could see where Arthur was coming from...

Suddenly, a cheeky grin spread across his face."Aw, come now, don't tell me you're concerned for my well-being. I always knew you had a soft spot for me," Merlin teased.

"Shut UP, _Me_rlin. Your lack of experience has nearly gotten us killed on multiple occasions, and it would be foolish to continue to drag you along with your pathetic lack of experience. Besides, I'm desperate for a full day's training. I haven't had nearly enough to prepare me for the tournament these past few weeks, what with all these idiot servants pulling at my clothes and thrusting speeches in my face. That's why we're heading out to the training compound at the crack of dawn, I need every ounce of practice I can get before this evening. This is really much more for my own good than yours, so quit flattering yourself," Arthur replied condescendingly. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. Despite trying to instill this statement permanently into his consciousness, Arthur knew deep down it was a lie. The real truth was that the instant Arthur had seen Merlin lying motionless among the leaves in the forest after being struck down had been the instant when Arthur's blood had run cold with fear. And it was in that moment, and the ones that followed, including Merlin's disappearance, that Arthur realized what Merlin had become to him. He wasn't just his manservant anymore. He was his friend, and Arthur simply could not bear to lose him. For God's sake, he cared for the boy, no matter how much he hated to admit it. He loved his teasing, disrespectful banter, and the way he never let Arthur's arrogance grow out of hand, as well as his stubborn loyalty and unnerving bravery. He loved the way he always insisted on tagging along, even when he was unneeded. And he especially loved that he knew Merlin loved him right back. If he were to die in Arthur's presence, it would be as his equal in every sense, and he would know he had died fighting.

As they approached the training grounds, Arthur leapt down from his horse, tying him to a post and turning to do the same for Merlin.

As Merlin dismounted, he took in the scene in front of him. At such an early hour, there wasn't another soul in sight. It was just him, Arthur, the rising sun, the dew covered field, and two swords. It was dead quiet, and it was beautiful. It was exactly what Arthur needed to steady himself before the tournament.

The quiet was soon filled in with the sounds of metal against metal. At first, Merlin struggled greatly. Accustomed to only being used as target practice in these types of training situations, Merlin was unsure of himself. He didn't know how to act, being so used to cowering without resistance. How could he be expected to come at Arthur with vigor when literally his only purpose in life was to keep people from doing that very thing? Arthur taught him the proper way to grip his sword, as well as the correct stance for blocking a blow and counter attacking. Arthur was a good teacher, having trained some of the finest knights in Camelot, but he was unused to teaching a man with as little experience as Merlin. It reminded him of the time he had trained the peasant men and women of Merlin's village, Ealdor, to defend themselves against a band of brutish invaders.

"Quick, turn to your right! Not like that!"

"Defend yourself! Dammit Merlin!"

"Merlin, thrust your body forward! Don't be such a _girl_!"

Slowly though, the tide began to turn. Arthur was quite shocked to learn that despite his wiry frame, Merlin had a fair amount of stamina. He was also a quick learner, and a scrappy one at that. Soon the sound of Arthur's voice ceased to fill the air, replaced by the melodious clang of sword against sword and strained grunts. Both men fought hard, and hours began to slip by, both locked in a beautiful dance of combat as their hair clung to their sweaty foreheads and their frosty breath slipped heavily into the crisp air. Arthur was clearly the better fighter, but Merlin began to prove his worth. Arthur couldn't help but smile as he realized a bit of his worry could be eased now that Merlin seemed adept at defending himself. A part of the smile also lingered due to the fact that this was turning out to be one of the best days he'd had in a long time.

Merlin, on the other hand, didn't let the prince's smile go unnoticed. He knew why it was there. He himself was sporting one as well. All previous complaints about losing his precious day off evaporated as the hours ticked by, and Merlin allowed himself to revel in the moment.

Finally, after hours of strained fighting, both boys collapsed onto the moist grass with muscles weak and limbs heavy, heaving and gulping in the sweet air. They lay facing opposite directions, heads just barely touching and faces gazing up at the cloudless sky.

"So...can I...be a knight now?" Merlin gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

"If you think you're even remotely close to the skill level of knight, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought," Arthur laughed, hiding his pride with a jab.

"You're a bad liar, Arthur. I know you're impressed by my manliness, I could see it on your face during that last parry."

"I suppose you fancy yourself a warrior now? I was holding back, I didn't want to hurt you during your first lesson. You can thank me now or later, but preferably now." Arthur smirked.

"Well fine, let's have a final round then, and I want you to give it everything. Don't you dare hold back. I'll destroy you," Merlin challenged haughtily. He was feeling abnormally confident. Never before had he felt strong without the aid of his magic, and he was desperate to prove his worth not only to Arthur, but to himself. It was something he had struggled with for a long time. He knew Arthur thought of him as weak, and even though deep down he knew he had proven himself today, he wanted more. He didn't want Arthur to hold back. He wanted Arthur to quit worrying about him. It should be the other way around. Worrying was supposed to be _Merlin's_ job.

"Are you serious?" Arthur said, apprehensively.

"Yes."

A slight pause. "Merlin, I just...that's probably not a very good idea. The tournament, it starts in a few hours, I don't want to be too exhausted...I-"

"Hey, if you're too scared, I get that..."

"Merlin..."

"You don't have to make excuses, I understand."

"Don't be an idiot."

A long pause.

"I could take you apart with one blow."

Merlin smiled, memories of their first meeting flooding his mind vividly. "And I could take you apart with less than that, remember?"

"And I've been trained to kill since birth, remember?" Arthur replied, playing along.

"And how long have you-"

"Don't say it. Don't you dare say it if you wish to live."

A longer pause.

"And how long have you been training to be a prat?" Merlin whispered.

The air stilled. Neither man spoke a word. The longest moment of silence fell upon them.

Suddenly, simultaneously, both leapt to their feet, facing each other in a challenging stance, and just like that the battle had begun.

"Sure you don't want me to go easy on you?" Arthur yelled over the sound of the clanking swords.

Merlin quickly spun in a circle, effectively blocking a blow.

"Not a chance!" he shouted back, dimpled grin plastered to his sweat slicked face.

Merlin knew Arthur would never really hurt him. Not seriously, at least. But he could tell Arthur was doing what he had asked. He was giving Merlin everything he had, and it was taking its toll on the much less experienced fighter. Still, it was the greatest fun Merlin had had in a long while.

Together they engaged in an intricately choreographed back and forth, and as the time passed and both became more engrossed in the task at hand, Arthur and Merlin swiftly and unconsciously moved away from the training compound. Making their way down the valley, they ended up battling right on a precipice overlooking the vast expanse of Albion. It was on that rocky outcropping where what had begun as fun and games transformed into something much more dire.

Arthur should have seen it coming. He really should have. As the minutes ticked by, it became clearer and clearer that Merlin was losing his stamina. His blows became more sluggish, his blocks laced with fatigue. Arthur was simply humoring him now, fighting lightly until Merlin inevitably surrendered. Arthur could see the sun setting off over the green hills down below the cliff, and he knew they should be heading back soon. The tournament was starting in a few hours.

He was about to drop his sword and call the fight a draw, saving Merlin the embarrassment of having lost when he was clearly so bent on winning. As he slowly lowered his sword, dropping his guard, the young manservant attacked with a renewed fervor, having spotted what he mistook as fatigue rather than surrender on the king's behalf. He thrust himself forward, swinging his weapon, hoping to coax Arthur into surrender and claim his victory.

The movement, however, caught the king off guard. Without thinking, he raised his sword instinctively with razor sharp reflexes, effectively blocking the blow and putting himself on the offense. He swung his arm, pushing Merlin back farther and farther until suddenly, eyes wide and arms flailing, Merlin reached the edge of the cliff. Arthur watched as if they were in slow motion, frozen to his spot with terror as he watched his servant, his companion, his friend, topple over the precipice and out of sight.

There was no sound. Only deadly silence filled the air as Arthur stared at the spot where Merlin had stood only an instant before. After what felt like an eternity later, a loud crack was released into the air, echoing and bouncing off the rocks. It sounded like a woodsman splitting firewood on a bitter winter's day, pungent and sharp followed immediately by silence.

Arthur blinked in confusion, still stuck in a stupor of shock after having witnessed Merlin totter over the edge. Realization burst inside Arthur like a lightning strike, spurring him into action.

_Oh god oh god oh god,_ Arthur repeated inside his head as he ran to the edge of the cliff, kneeling in the spot where Merlin had fallen.

Arthur felt his stomach roil and the blood in his body pound in his ears as he realized where the loud crack had actually come from: Merlin. Merlin was hurt.

Peering over the edge, Arthur looked down, down, down, searching desperately for the source of the sound. His eyes froze simultaneously with his heart, having landed upon his manservant.

_Oh my god. What have I done?_


	2. Chapter 2

**As promised, Part 2! I can't thank you guys enough, your support and feedback on this story has been greatly, magnificently appreciated. Seeing as this is my first Merlin fic, it's really nice to know that it's something you like. Personally, one of my favorite parts about the show is that underneath all the fantasy aspects of the world, the real appeal comes from the characters and their interactions with eachother. That's why I love writing things like this. It places these larger than life characters in subdued situations and tests their reactions and emotions. Anyway, working hard on Part 3, will have it up soon! I have a direction I'm going with this plot, but any and all suggestions/comments are welcomed and greatly encouraged! **

**Once again, I do not own Merlin or any of the characters associated with it. Cheers!**

From the sound of the lightly exasperated sigh that escaped his lips, one might assume that a bit of bothersome dust had just landed upon his sleeve whilst beating the dirt out of the musty tapestry in Arthur's foul chambers. It was not the sigh of a young warlock falling to his death.

As the peak of the rocky ridge fell farther and farther from his outstretched palms, and his body twisted to gaze up at the shockingly steep, unforgiving landscape of the massive cliff he had slipped off of only moments before, Merlin felt oddly...calm? Perhaps it was the resulting stupor of having the earth steady beneath his feet and a sure fire victory over Arthur within his grasp only moments before, only to have both ripped from beneath him not a second later. He found himself falling. And thinking. In fact, his thoughts were so clear and logical, he had to attune his senses to the rapid yet steady pounding of his heart as well as the labored sound of his whooshing breath to make sure he was actually alive, and not tumbling through some strange purgatory.

Seeing as this was perhaps the only instant in his short life when he hadn't felt overtly panicked in the face of danger-and with Arthur by his side there was _plenty_ of opportunity for that-Merlin quickly determined he must not waste the clarity. He created a thoughtful list. One, he noted, that Gaius would be particularly pleased by, seeing as it contained the meticulous inner workings of a great sorcerer's superior intellect. It really was that brilliant. And it went like this:

_I, Merlin, know five things._

_1. I am falling._

_2. I will die if I do not stop falling._

_3. I have magic._

_4. Arthur is an idiot. _

_5. I am not. An idiot, that is._

According to number 5, Merlin discerned that he should be able to apply number 3 to number 1 to ultimately negate number 2, which was caused involuntarily by number 4.

_See?_ Merlin assured himself. _Not an idiot!_

Noticing for the first time the rapidity with which the landscape was changing and passing by the outer corners of his vision, Merlin made the executive decision to work quickly, despite the newly and fortuitously slowed logistics of his thought process. Merlin shifted his body away from the cliff side. His head, while still pointing down with his feet in the air like some sort of free falling bird of prey, was no longer facing the dark soil and flurried patches of grass intermixed with the boulders lodged into the precipice wall. Instead, he was now gazing at the open air of Albion. It was a daunting sight. For the first time since losing his balance and stumbling over the edge, Merlin allowed a small inkling of fear to trickle into his veins. Scrunching his eyes tightly shut, he pushed away the incoming panic and reached deep within to summon the magic that would undo his undoing.

_Duthectad bithlane!_ He gasped quietly, eyes flying open, flashing a wild shade of gold. Merlin felt relief flood his senses as he immediately began to feel his body's descent slow.

_I am clearly a genius._

Merlin couldn't keep the toothy grin from sliding across his face. Despite his apprehensions about proving his physical worth to Arthur, he could always count on his magic. Everything was going to be alright. He would emerge, unharmed, and Arthur would be so impressed by his unlikely ability to escape a situation as deadly as this one that he would never again question his ability to protect himself. Everything was going to be fine, everything-

_Slam_

Merlin felt the blow reverberate through his spine like a thousand of Gaius' largest needles, all the way down to his toes. His temple smashed against a jagged rock, bouncing his head, whipping his neck and sending a sinister, threatening veil of darkness to creep along the outer edges of his vision.

It all happened just like it had begun: instantaneously. It took Merlin every bit of strength he had to fight unconsciousness as he slid head first down the sloped, rocky base of the cliff, leaving a trail of blood leaking from his head in his wake.

Merlin had made a grave miscalculation. His spell had slowed his fall, but he had failed to take into account the terrain of the ledge. What he had assumed to be a straight, vertical descent of which he could easily complete his spell and land gently on his feet at the bottom had actually become a jagged, uneven slope, landing him on his head and jarring the magic right out of his body. He was sliding now at a rapid pace, stunned and disoriented, with no clue how to slow himself.

Suddenly, a white hot, blinding pain erupted in his leg, spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of his limbs as his body came to a harsh stop, slamming his thin frame against the hard packed dirt like a limp rag doll. Perhaps he had imagined it, but Merlin was certain he had heard an extremely loud crack erupt, similar to the sound of a whip slicing through the air at the exact same time his body had been shuddered to a halt.

He didn't scream. He didn't groan. Merlin just lay there, blood rushing to his head as he lay on his back upon the bumpy, steeply sloped mountain side. Pain rolled over him in waves, like the ocean tide after a large storm. His mouth was agape in a silent scream, no sound passing out of his lips as he continued to lay still, dazed, eyes squeezed shut. The pain was...unbearable. It consumed every trace of the logic he had maintained only moments before scorching a trail of searing agony through his muddled mind.

Slowly, painstakingly, as if his eyes had been stuck together with honey, Merlin pried his lids apart and lifted his head. His neck immediately protested, and his vision swam dangerously at the movement. His senses felt...dulled, as if he were waking from a deep sleep, and thoughts became slurred and mixed, reminiscent of the time he had stumbled out of the tavern in the early hours of the morning just last week. It was exhausting, trying to think about so many things at once, but he fought the incoming bout of sleepiness. Peering down the length of this body, he found that he was sprawled on his back, legs sloping upward, with one leg caught between two large, jagged boulders. That was the blessing and the curse that had halted his descent. What he saw next, however, made his pulse fly faster than it had when he had slipped off the edge.

His leg looked like a piece of driftwood that had been splintered against an errant rock in a swiftly moving river. The bone had broken cleanly on the upper part of his shin, leaving the rest of the leg to hang limply, as if completely separate from his body.

Merlin shuddered, laying his head back down on the cool dirt. He groaned, feeling hot tears prick at his eyes as the severity of the situation sank in.

_Ok. I might be an idiot._

* * *

><p><em>He's an idiot. He was born an idiot, he lived as an idiot, and now he's gone and died an idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid stupid, stupid, stupid.<em>

Arthur was shaking. Large, violent tremors wracked his body, making his legs wobble as he stumbled numbly down the cliff side. After what had felt like an eternity of perpetual fear staring down at the sight of Merlin's broken form, he had risen slowly to his feet, gradually goading himself to act. He had found a slight slope on the outer edge of the cliff, one just large enough to support his weight as he descended to the too still body of his mangled manservant a few hundred meters away.

He was dead. He had to be. He had fallen hundreds of feet, and now he lay in a crumpled heap. No matter how much he wanted it to be true, there was simply no way in hell that Merlin was alive.

A hitched sob escaped from between Arthur's lips. It was like a dam bursting, and all of a sudden he couldn't stop it, try as he might. The pain was just so unexpected, crashing against his conscience like a hammer clanging against an anvil. He had never lost control like this before. Arthur wept. He ran, sobbing desperately like a newborn child, anguished screams catching in his throat while hot rivulets of tears raked their way down his already sweaty, dirty cheeks. What did it matter? The one person who would give him grief for being_ such a girl_ lay unmoving on the moist, dark soil below.

_This wasn't supposed to happen,_ a voice deep within his head proclaimed. Oddly, it didn't sound like his own. It sounded like Merlin's.

As he drew closer and closer to his pale form, Arthur considered throwing his own body down the cliff side and dying right alongside his friend. He simply could not believe he had let this happen. The day had been full of beautiful promise, promise which now lay dead in the dried up ravine further down. How was he to live with himself? What was he supposed to do? He needed to know. He needed Merlin to tell him.

Arthur slowed, eventually coming to a halt about twenty feet from Merlin's body. He was petrified, too afraid to face the other side of the thin veil he was standing behind. He simply stared, allowing the guilt of what he had done to seep into his pores.

Merlin's body lay at an angle, conforming to the slope of the ground, the rocks beneath his back causing his bony torso to rise and fall in unnatural places. He wore an expression of paralyzed pain, lips parted, eyebrows knit together, eyes tightly shut. Arthur winced, noticing the fresh blood pooling around his neck and head, leaking from a deep gash on his temple. His arms lay sprawled to the side, palms facing upwards towards the sky. Arthur's eyes continued to travel the length of his body, landing in horror upon the source of the sickening crack he had heard earlier. Merlin's leg had been swiftly broken like a twig, and it was currently wedged between two massively jagged rocks.

Arthur allowed himself another moment of paralysis before he slowly began making his way towards the body. He decided he would drag Merlin back up the rocky slope he had taken down. It would be intensely difficult given the precipitous nature of the terrain, but he would make it. He had to. Gaius deserved to see what Arthur had done to his ward, and Hunith deserved to bury her boy.

That was when Merlin opened his eyes.

_It's not possible._ He had hallucinated. He had most certainly hallucinated. He shook his head, wiping some of the sticky tears from his eyes.

"A little help...would be splendid...clotpole," Merlin slurred groggily, slowly turning his neck to address Arthur.

Arthur broke into a run, collapsing on his knees at Merlin's side and gathering his upper body into his arms, his dark shock of hair nestled beneath his chin. He breathed him in, relieved to find that Merlin smelled like fresh air, sweat, and wet dirt. He smelled alive.

"Let go o' me, praaat," Merlin groaned.

Arthur laughed, sniffling heavily and working desperately to compose himself and fetch back his dignity.

"You should be dead, you hear me? How the hell are you not dead?" Arthur was practically giddy.

"Sorry to disappoint," Merlin grimaced, gasping at the slightest shift in his body as pain shot up his leg and collided with his head. "Maybe it's the armor," he gestured to the thick metal and heavy chain mail still clinging to his body.

"Hold on, ok? I'm gonna get your leg out, but...this is gonna hurt a lot. Here, bite down on this," Arthur warned, offering up his glove.

"Just fell 500 feet. Survived. I think...I can handle it," Merlin panted. His response was muddled and slow, but it still held a hint of Merlin sass.

"Oh, so now you're a man? I seem to recall you barely able to support the weight of your own armor only a few hours ago," Arthur goaded, trying to distract the boy while he surveyed the scene and tried to work out precisely how to go about prying Merlin's limp right leg from between the tight clamp of the rocks.

"Yeah, well that was before I valiantly kicked your arse in that epic fi-SHIT SHIT SHIT STOP OH GOD ARTHUR STOP IT HURTS," Merlin writhed in pain as Arthur yanked his incapacitated leg free before promptly twisting his torso and vomiting on the soil, body convulsing as nothing more than water and bile seeped into the dirt.

"Yes, very valiant," Arthur rolled his eyes before drawing his expression into a frown.

"Easy, Merlin," he warned, placing one hand behind the boy's neck and the other on his chest before gently lowering him back to the ground, carefully moving him a distance away from the puddle of blood on one side and the mess of bile on the other. Merlin's eyes rolled around unsteadily, fluttering closed before sharply reopening at the gentle slap of Arthur's bare hand.

"Oh no you don't, moron. You stay awake or you'll find out the meaning of real pain," Arthur threatened, struggling to mask his worry. He pressed his water skin to the manservant's dry parted lips, doing all he could to make sure the boy didn't pass out.

"Didn't realize...you were...that asshole...that beats his servants," Merlin mumbled, a drunken half-smile curving along his lips as he finished drinking a whole teaspoon of water.

"Shut up," was all Arthur could muster. He began tearing up his cloak, hoping to staunch the blood still pouring out of Merlin's skull and buy himself some time to formulate a plan. Once that was finished, he checked the rest of the boy's gaunt frame for signs of anymore severe trauma, avoiding the one area he simply didn't want to address.

"What, are you on a diet, Merlin? You look like a ten year-old girl," he jabbed.

"Just tryna...maintain my girlish figure, sire," Merlin ribbed right back.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot you enjoy dressing up in women's clothing," Arthur cracked up at the memory of a flustered Merlin sneaking down the corridor unexplainably clutching one of Morgana's stolen garments. He would have given anything to be in that moment right now instead of this one.

Despite his fading pallor, Merlin still managed to flush at the thought. He felt a rush of sadness wash over him as his thoughts turned to Freya.

"I told you. That. Was. Not. For. Me!" he seethed.

Sensing he had breeched a sensitive subject, Arthur let it go.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just wait till we get you back to Camelot. I'm gonna force a thousand loaves of bread down your throat, followed by a thousand pounds of butter," he chided.

"Wonderful. Really looking forward to it," Merlin said, watching the king with amusement as he struggled to stay positive. Usually he was the one playing the role of the optimist.

Seeing nothing more than a littering of fairly heavy bruising, Arthur sighed.

"I have to set your leg, Merlin."

"Nope. Not broken, I promise," he was slurring heavily now.

"You are possibly the _worst_ liar I've ever met. Look, I really, really need you to try to keep still. Don't fight passing out, alright? Go dream about fairies or unicorns, or whatever it is that tickles your fancy. Got it?" He basically forced the glove into his mouth this time around.

Arthur inhaled shakily. _Do it. Stop being a girl, and do it._ He allowed himself a peek at Merlin's pale face, who stared directly back, eyes unevenly dilated but as wide as saucers. He nodded, giving him the okay.

_Stupid, brave idiot._

Arthur braced himself, gripping the stick-thin limb with both hands.

_1. 2. 3! _

He twisted with all his might, listening to the strangled cry rip itself free from Merlin's throat as he struggled, despite the unbearable pain, to keep himself still. Arthur used the remaining pieces of his cloak to wrap the broken bone as tightly and quickly as possible.

When it was all finished, he sat down heavily next to Merlin's head, both men exhausted.

"Sorry." Arthur winced.

"Thanks." Merlin heaved.

Both spoke the words at the exact same time.

Merlin had remained stubbornly conscious during the ordeal, and Arthur could see the clarity in his eyes slipping farther and farther from his grasp with each passing second.

"Art'ur?" Merlin slurred groggily, eyebrows furrowed and forehead scrunched, those giant dilated pupils peering out from behind half-lidded eyes.

Arthur sighed, leaning back on his heels and taking in their vast surroundings, trying to get his bearings. "Yes Merlin?"

"I am concussed."

Arthur pushed a hand through his blonde hair, front to back, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I realize that Merlin. That among many other things. Idiot."

"I am. I am an idiot."

Merlin had just conceded to being an idiot, without even an attempt at insulting Arthur back. He must really be hurting.

Things were bad. Things were really, really bad. How the hell did things get this bad?

_Think, Arthur. You're the goddamn king of Camelot. _

Arthur tilted his head back, one eyebrow raised as he surveyed the sky. The sun was sinking far in the west, dipping maliciously lower, as if Arthur were a mouse and time were a great big cat, playing with its food before the inevitable meal.

The real problem lie in the fact that nobody knew they were out here. Only that one servant who had helped Merlin with his armor earlier, as well as Gauis, knew they had headed down this morning to practice for the tournament. Under normal circumstances, Gauis would be the one he placed his trust in, seeing as he was constantly struggling to keep his ward out of danger and was therefore always acutely aware of Merlin's whereabouts. But on this particular night, Gaius was sure to have more than enough on his plate. As court physician, he was in charge of tending to all injuries obtained during the tournament. When everyone gathered on the compound in a few hours for the opening ceremony, they would simply assume Merlin and Arthur were in Arthur's tent, suiting up. Everybody knew how much Arthur hated giving speeches, and no one would dare to bother the king during his pre-fight rituals. No one would even guess something had gone amiss until Arthur didn't show up for his first match. Hell, even their horses were still tied up at the compound. Nobody would suspect a thing. Nobody was coming for them...

Arthur slowly rose to his feet. Even if his people did realize they were in need of help, there was no way a search party was going to be able to locate them, especially not at the bottom of a dark, arduous cliff. And if they did manage to catch their trail? Well, Arthur simply didn't have those hours to spare. Correction: Merlin didn't have the hours to spare. Merlin was going to die out here, and that was a fate Arthur simply would not accept. Not again.

Adrenaline seeped into his blood. He tilted his head back, looking up the slope that had brought him down the cliff side. That particular route had required him to basically dangle vertically before allowing him to drop onto horizontal ground. Even if he could somehow haul Merlin to the top of the slope, there was no way he was getting him up and over the ledge with his broken leg, especially without a rope. Arthur turned in the opposite direction, heart beating a little faster as he realized his only option would be to take Merlin down and out through the valley. They would be spending the night in the forest.

He gazed down at Merlin. In the fading light, his face seemed to have grown sallow and pallid, sharp cheekbones jutting out menacingly. Arthur grimaced, realizing the ghastly effect had most likely been caused by the blood loss. His eyes were closed, but Arthur could see them rolling around frantically beneath the translucent, paper-thin skin of the lids.

Arthur lowered himself down next to him, once again dropping his ear over his mouth to make sure he could hear the faint murmur of his ragged exhalations. Gently, he grasped his chin in his fingers, gingerly turning the white face towards him and inspecting the strips of fabric he had wrapped around his temple, assuring himself they were still securely in place. Arthur breathed in deeply through his nose, smiling sadly.

"How did it come to this, Merlin?" a question more for himself than for Merlin.

"Well, you see, there was this cliff..." Merlin quipped, painfully cracking one eye open. He closed it immediately, brain hypersensitive to even the tiniest sliver of light. Arthur flinched, letting go of his chin and surveying as Merlin's head lolled to the side, limp.

_Annnnd that's my cue to get moving,_ Arthur thought, impelling himself to take action. He thrust his arms underneath Merlin's armpits, preparing to heave him up off the ground.

"You ready, mate? It's gonna be a long night," he murmured, leaning over him.

Arthur allowed himself a small, amused smirk. He hadn't expected a response, but he should have seen it coming. Unsteadily, with eyes still firmly shut and head turned away from Arthur, Merlin uttered two distinct words:

"Ready. Prat."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3, just in time for the new year! Again, I cannot thank you guys enough for the lovely comments you've given me on my first fic. It's definitely motivated me to write something worthy of your time. There will be a Part 4, and it will be an epilogue of sorts, most likely dealing with Merlin recovering and Arthur getting a glimpse at what Merlin's duties are like. It shall be very fluffy! This chapter was a very fun character study for me. I borrowed the I Never scene directly out of an episode of Lost called Outlaws (I'm a Lost fiend!). Even if you don't watch Lost, please, for all that is good and merciful, go and watch that scene! I know "I Never" probably isn't a very historically accurate game for Merlin and Arthur to play, but too many delicious scenes on television have come from characters playing that game (The Walking Dead, anyone?) I just could not resist. Please continue to leave feedback! I love to hear from you guys. Cheers!**

**Also, bone infection is in fact real. I looked it up! It's called Osteomyelitis...**

**I do not own Merlin.**

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><p>They had been traveling for what felt like an eternity, but in all actuality it couldn't have been more than an hour. The problem was that Merlin kept losing little pockets of time.<p>

Arthur had hoisted Merlin to his feet, preparing to toss him over his shoulders and carry him like a damn sack of potatoes, but Merlin had insisted he could walk. Arthur had given him this look like he was a madman before rolling his eyes deeply.

"You have seen the state of your leg, haven't you Merlin? You're not exactly in the best shape of your life at the moment," Arthur condescended, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and head cocked to the side. "Not to mention you look like you've been at the slow gin again, from the way your eyes keep crossing and all."

"Just...just help me up. I can walk. Promise," it had already been a day of humiliation for Merlin. What had begun as an attempt to prove his strength to the king in the face of danger had ultimately become just the opposite. All he had left was his murderous wit, and even that was slipping away. If only he wasn't so goddam sleepy. If the king had thought him weak before...

"Honestly, I'm quite alright," Merlin begged, clinging to his last shred of dignity.

"Now's not the time for jokes, Merlin," Arthur replied nonchalantly, heaving the boy up and over his shoulder as if he weighed no more than a sack of feathers, careful to avoid jolting his decrepit leg. Merlin didn't bother to tell him the limb had long since gone numb.

"Arthur, please, leave me. 'S not worth it," he gasped, nausea roiling in his stomach as the king began making his way towards the forest, bouncing Merlin's head gently against his back as they went.

"Sure, Merlin. You're wish is my command." Merlin groaned in annoyance. Why did Arthur always have to insist on being such a prat?

It wasn't until they reached the outer edge of the forest that Merlin began to admit to himself that something was really off. Sure, he had a broken leg. And yes, his head felt like someone was slowly and rhythmically injecting scalding hot water into his brain through the base of his neck, but there was something else...

It was as if he was rotting from the inside out, a creeping, disturbing feeling of maggots crawling right beneath the surface of his heated skin. A single word kept thumping over and over again in his sluggish mind.

_Infection_.

Merlin had only seen a number of patients in Gaius' chambers with what his mentor had referred to as 'bone infection' before. It was rare, but he knew it was possible, especially with a severe break like Merlin's. The stiffness in his leg was a telltale sign in itself, but it was when he had first felt the chills begin to wrack his body while a dry heat creeped into his cheeks that Merlin recognized this for what it was. And it was dangerous. Hell, if it was an infection, magic might not even be able to save him. He would be too weak...If experience was anything to go off of, the situation was going to become ugly, and this was not how Merlin wanted Arthur to see him die.

Before he could muster the strength to warn Arthur that they needed to get to Gaius _now_, Merlin felt his body curl in on itself. Hanging upside down from Arthur's shoulder, a wave of illness washed over his helpless frame. Pain erupted behind his eyes, and the sound of his blood ran hot in his ears, making it hard to concentrate on anything besides his own utter discomfort. Still, he rallied all his strength.

"Arthur!" he gasped. "Arthur, you must stop, I'm going to be-"

Vomit once again erupted from Merlin's mouth, spraying the ground beneath him. It was dark by now, but Merlin was still able to recognize the dark patches in his own sick. Blood. Convulsions wracked his feeble form, but Merlin still barely managed to hear Arthur shout his name in surprise before his vision collapsed, and his body fell limp against Arthur's back.

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><p>Even Arthur could admit that the yelp he had heard himself emit had been rather girlish. He couldn't help it, though. Merlin was scaring the hell out of him.<p>

They had finally reached the edge of the forest. Only a couple of hours, and they would be out of the woods and on a direct route back towards the grounds of the tournament, where hopefully Gaius would be stationed and this whole mess could be resolved. Of course, nothing could ever be that simple. At least not when Merlin was involved.

He had heard the sputtered cry from his manservant, but it had happened so quickly that he hadn't had time to get him off of his back before he had gotten sick all over the ground behind him. At this point they had already travelled about 500 meters into the woods, arriving at a small clearing at the base of a cluster of trees. When he had felt that the boy had gone limp against his back, Arthur quickly shifted into what Merlin liked to call "Prince Arthur Mode". Even though Arthur was technically now the king, Merlin still preferred to mock him with the fact that he apparently only had two behaviors, the aforementioned and, much to his annoyance, "Prat Mode".

Arthur gently lowered Merlin down, trying to make him as comfortable as possible on the cold, hard ground. Arthur had already torn up his cloak to patch Merlin's head and leg, so he was unable to cover the unconscious man with any sort of warmth. Luckily, the armor they were both wearing was thickly padded and would prevent either of the from growing too cold. Still, night had fallen, and despite the clear sky there was no moon to help the king see. He quickly gathered up the materials to start a small fire. He was able to do so swiftly, seeing as all the wood surrounding them was dry and fresh from the bitter air.

Once the fire began to roar steadily, Arthur was able to move Merlin closer to it and get a better look at the state he was in.

Arthur's face grew solemn as he noticed beads of sweat had formed on the young man's pale, greenish-grey face, despite the biting cold. He reached out and placed the back of his hand on the forehead of his sleeping friend, ghastly white in the glow of the fire. He watched as Merlin unconsciously moved towards the source of the cool touch. Arthur, however, instinctively withdrew his hand, frowning in confusion at the feverish heat that had radiated from the skin.

"You really do like to put on a show, don't you?" Arthur murmured, watching as Merlin shifted with discomfort, groaning lightly. Once again, Arthur allowed guilt to roll over him like a wave, wracking his bones and twisting his gut.

Arthur was frustrated. He didn't know what to do. He had never been trained for something like this, and that alone was enough to make him loathe every bit of himself. The worst, though, was that he had been the cause of this disastrous situation. He desperately wanted to fix things, but he was terrified of causing more harm to his friend. Panic began to surge through his body, but he forced himself to breathe deeply and clear his thoughts.

He didn't know why Merlin had become so ill all of a sudden. He had dealt with both concussions and broken legs, and he knew neither of them to cause whatever was plaguing Merlin. He did know that he needed to get him awake, though. Gaius had told him that much was important when dealing with victims of a nasty head injury. Plus, Arthur figured that if he could get Merlin lucid enough, he might be able to tell him what was to be done. He was better at that stuff than him. Making up his mind, Arthur grabbed his waterskin. The liquid inside had grown icy cold in the weather, and Arthur grinned slightly as he prepared to pour some of it over his manservant's face. Oh, Merlin was going to_ love_ him for this.

There was no immediate reaction from the manservant as the water connected with his face, but Arthur waited patiently as his lids parted and the cobalt eyes slowly focused.

"Merlin?" he coaxed softly, scanning his face for signs of recognition.

Merlin finally rolled his eyes up towards Arthur's face, and his expression turned to one of utter grumpiness.

"Could somebody please tell me what I've done to deserve waking up to your face _and_ ice cold water twice in one day?" he croaked, voice cracking.

Arthur chuckled, a bit of relief easing his pounding pulse. At least he was lucid.

"Sorry. Need you to stay awake, though. Even _your_ thick skull can't recover that quickly, despite it being filled with hot air," Arthur chided, before clearing his throat. "The truth is I could use your help. I-I'm not really sure what to do, Merlin. You're burning up, and I just, I don't have the experience you do with this," he finished shakily, scratching at the back of his neck nervously.

"The great Arthur, asking his lowly idiot manservant for help? Never thought I'd see the day," Merlin said slowly, attempting to rise onto his elbows before being gruffly pushed back down by Arthur. He couldn't resist the chance at some barbed insolence, and he was avoiding the answer to Arthur's question.

"Come on now, Merlin," Arthur said sternly.

There was an uncomfortable silence, filled in only by the sound of Merlin's ragged breath and the crackle of leaves as Arthur shifted where he sat.

"Erm, well, it's possible I have...a bone infection," Merlin confessed. "If my leg has swollen or gotten red, I definitely do."

Arthur swallowed loudly. Infection. Such an awful word. "I already checked. It doesn't look good, Merlin."

Another long silence followed, and Arthur began to worry Merlin had drifted back to sleep when he spoke abruptly.

"So much for my lousy day off." At this point, neither could help it. They both began to laugh, clinging to the moment of joy before Arthur clapped his hands together.

"Alright. Here's what we're going to do. There's no point in trying to find our way back to Camelot tonight. It's too damn dark, and we'll just end up going in circles, especially if I'm lugging your scrawny body around. Dawn is only a few hours away, and hopefully by that time there will be a search party or something around looking for us. Got it?" All Arthur got was a yawn in return.

Merlin was beginning to slip again, his gangly limbs shaking as chills forced their way down his long body.

"Hey, hey, come now. A few hours, that's all you'll have to wait," Arthur soothed, trying to coax a bit of water down Merlin's throat before placing a freshly cooled rag across his forehead. Arthur grimaced as Merlin promptly refused the drink.

"Merlin, you have to drink. You'll only grow sicker," Arthur scolded.

Merlin only whimpered in response. Arthur gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to work out a plan. It was like trying to care for a toddler. He was being so stubborn!

"Ok, ok. Here's what we'll do. Since you _insist_ on disobeying the command of your king and acting like a child, I'll just have to treat you so. We're going to play a little game called "I Never", alright?" Arthur proudly proclaimed, impressing himself with his own idea. This would surely keep Merlin awake. For awhile, at least.

"Whassthat?" Merlin slurred, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Oh come on Merlin, you really never played this one before? It's a classic!" Arthur smiled. He used to play it all the time with the older knights back when he was about fourteen and his father had dragged him along on his hunting trips. They used to get a kick out of it.

"How on Earth am I supposed to know what that is?" Merlin whined from his spot on the ground. At least it was taking some of the attention off of the pain.

"Call it a way to get to know each other better. For example, I know you've never been on a hunting trip with any of your mates back in Ealdor when you were a kid." Arthur's eyes gleamed mischievously in the firelight.

"And how do you know that?" Merlin challenged.

"If you had, you'd have heard about "I Never". It's simple, you say "I never" and then you finish the sentence. If it's something you did-" Arthur raised the water skin. "- you drink. If it's something you never did, you don't drink."

"That makes absolutely no sense, prat."

"Learn by example, Merlin. I never...fornicated with a farm animal. Now you drink, 'cause you have. Your turn."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Just because I'm from a farming village doesn't mean I have intercourse with _sheep_," he spluttered. Still, he allowed Arthur to press the water skin to his lips and gingerly hold his head up with his hand. He had to admit it felt nice having something cool sliding down his fevered throat.

Once Arthur was satisfied that he had drank enough, Merlin decided to play along.

"I never forced someone to dress me in in the mornings."

Arthur pretended to drink some of the water, secretly saving it for his manservant.

"I never flirted with the King's ward," Arthur said pointedly.

"I didn't do that."

Arthur raised one eyebrow. "Morgana?"

"That was not flirting, Arthur. God, no wonder you're having such a rough time of it seducing Gwen."

"Fine. I never...fell in love."

Merlin remained silent.

"Ah, that's just sad!"

"You haven't either! You just admitted to it," Merlin sassed. He refused to bring up Freya. Merlin had long come to realize that that had been something much more akin to excitement than actual love.

"Yes, but I'm the King. Love is...a much more complicated matter for me," Arthur retaliated.

"And Gwen?" Merlin challenged.

"That's not how the game works, Merlin," Arthur refused to breech that topic with his manservant.

Merlin sighed. "Fine. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours."

"I never...wore a dress. Despite what you may think."

Arthur took another fake swig of water.

"I knew it."

"Hey, you never had to grow up with Morgana! I was basically her pet. She loved dressing me up, and my father never did a thing about it. He always thought it was rather hilarious. Spoiled brat," Arthur cursed, raising his voice in defense. "I never killed a man."

Both men took a turn drinking from the skin silently.

"I never had to learn how to take dancing lessons," Merlin chuckled.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and fake drank.

"I've never _polished_ anything," Arthur sniggered.

Merlin took another drink, slowly albeit.

"I've never had chocolate?" Merlin was running out of ideas. He was growing groggy.

"You've never had chocolate." Arthur was shocked.

"I'm not drinking, am I?"

Arthur formed an exasperated expression before taking another drink, telling himself to remember to find Merlin some chocolate when they got back to the castle. Maybe he could give it to him while he recovered.

"I've never passed out in the tavern after puking on a barmaid like some sort of village idiot," Arthur taunted, laughing at the memory. Merlin had sported a lovely shiner for a week after that one.

"I'll bet you wish you had," Merlin muttered.

"Bottoms up, sailor."

"I've gotta drink for each time," Merlin grinned sheepishly, causing Arthur to laugh even harder. Once finished, Merlin leveled his gaze at the king. "I never had...relations...with a courtesan before," he said daringly.

"Only once!" Arthur defended himself. He couldn't help but smile fondly at the memory of his 17 year-old self. "What a way to lose it, eh? Lord have mercy, she was something. That green corset she had on...whew." Arthur whistled, cracking himself up.

Merlin made a noise of disgust. "Your turn."

"I've never been a Mother's boy," Arthur leveled.

Merlin managed a small sip, not quite sure what to say.

"And I was never close to my father," he spoke warily, not sure if he had crossed a line.

Arthur, surprisingly, did not drink, opting to stare steadily back at Merlin, challenging him to refute his silent statement.

"I never risked my life, day in and day out, pretending like I had nothing to do with the men and women saved by my hand, only to risk my neck doing something stupid just to prove myself, never even realizing my own worth," Arthur spoke in a low voice. Merlin froze, stunned for a long moment, heart pounding, only to shrug and swallow a large gulp of the water a moment later.

"Yeah? Well I never blamed myself for things that were beyond my control, without even realizing that sometimes it's okay to let people die for you, especially when you're a king worth dying for!" Arthur stood, fists clenched, gazing down at Merlin, mouth drawn into an indiscernible line. Merlin kept going.

"_And_ I never acted like the only reason I kept my lousy manservant around was because he's my friend, when maybe it's more than that. Maybe it's because he's the only other person in this kingdom that just doesn't belong." Merlin was gasping heavily now, cheeks flushed. Arthur walked over slowly to the boy, drinking a bit of the water as he went. He squatted down on his heels next to Merlin's face. The fire was nothing but coals now, and Arthur could just barely make out the outline of Merlin's sweaty mop splayed out on the hard packed dirt.

"I never believed in destiny." Arthur's tone was low and soothing as he drank following his own statement before handing off the water to Merlin, who gladly gulped down the last few drops.

"Well, looks like we got something in common, after all," Arthur whispered. Merlin's eyes finally drooped shut, succumbing to his exhaustion. Arthur watched him fall into the fevered throes of a fitful sleep, a pang of sympathy erupting in his gut.

The sun was coming up over the valley now, its rays painting the meager spattering of clouds pink and orange. Splotches of light began to peek their way through the canopy of leafless branches overhead. Arthur had done it. He had kept Merlin alive through the night. But now they had to go. Merlin had fought hard, once again proving his strength to Arthur. However, even Merlin knew he could not hold out for much longer given the state he was in. Once again, Arthur hoisted his friend up over his shoulder, making his way out of the forest for good.

They were a sight to behold. The strong, sturdy, legendary king of Camelot, valiantly carrying his equally legendary friend through the vast expanse of the valley.

It was this sight that greeted the shocked faces of knights, peasants, servants, and royals alike as Arthur finally made his way over the hill and back onto the grounds of Camelot where the tournament had wrapped up for the night only two hours before. Not a soul had dared to leave the compound, though, once news of the king and his manservant's disappearance had made it's way throughout the grounds. The knights had prevented all the participants from leaving the field so they could be questioned, while a search party was about to make its way into the surrounding villages.

Crossing over the threshold right smack in the middle of the field, Arthur collapsed to his knees in exhaustion, laying an unconscious and, quite frankly, _dying_ Merlin down once again in the grass. A stunned silence washed over the compound. Hundreds of faces stared down at them from the stands, mouths agape in shock as Arthur struggled on his hands and knees to regain his breath in the bitter air next to Merlin's motionless body. Even Gwen didn't dare to move.

Finally, a single body ripped its way out of the crowd, sprinting down to the fallen pair.

Gaius dropped to his knees in the grass beside Merlin, prying one of his lids open and pressing an ear to his chest.

"Gaius..." Arthur gasped.

"Sire, what happened? You must tell me."

"Just...help Merlin. _Please._"

"Arthur..." Gaius clasped a hand on Arthur's quaking shoulder, confused beyond belief. He had never heard the king beg before.

"We must get him to your chambers_ now_."

Finally, Gaius seemed to snap out of it, summoning a pair of guards to come and help him carry his ward. Arthur watched in amusement as his entire fleet of knights rushed over and crouched down around their fallen friend, eager to help.

As they carried him off, Arthur rose to his feet and began to follow with more guards supporting him at his elbows, only to lock eyes with Guinevere. She had been watching worriedly from a distance, hands clasped in front of her mouth. Gwen smiled gently, both seeming to share a singular thought.

_Thank god for Merlin._


	4. Chapter 4

**HELLO! I don't expect you to forgive me. I haven't updated in an unbearably long time, and there are no excuses, not even the start of a new semester at school, which has kept me disgustingly busy. I hope I can make it up to you by extending this story! Hurray! I'll be posting another chapter soon (honestly), and I believe it will be the last. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! Enjoy, lovely people, and thank you for all the comments you've given to me about this work so far. It means the world.**

**I do not own these characters.**

**P.S. I thought this would be interesting to look at from Gaius' angle. He's such a softy.**

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><p>It had been the most terrifying sight he had ever beheld. Gaius was not a coward, but he also wasn't incapable of admitting to his own fear. And this...this was real fear. Raw and real.<p>

Merlin looked dead.

Gaius had never seen anything like it before. Even in his sleep, Merlin was a piece of work. For God's sake, when he had been _poisoned _he had never stopped moving.

After allowing the initial shock of seeing his ward lying like a corpse before him and the entirety of Camelot wear off, Gaius had ripped his way through the babbling hysteria of the stricken crowd, taking his place beside Arthur on his knees next to Merlin's slack body and grasping for his pulse. He gently peeled back his eyelids, allowing worry to cloud his expression as he noted the unevenly dilated pupils and the shockingly warm feel of his skin. Bone infections were one of God's cruelest tricks. This was certainly worst than when Merlin had been poisoned...At least then Gaius had had a few days to work with, as well as an antidote to hope for. Judging by the state he was in now, Merlin had far less time (perhaps only hours), no antidote, and far less hope.

Gaius' fears held true even after the the procession of knights had chaotically rushed the boy to his chambers and settled him onto the cot next to the fire. However, one glance at the look of overwhelming concern on the king's face was enough to force Gaius to internalize his own doubts about Merlin's condition.

Arthur bustled maniacally around the physician's dwelling, shouting orders in every direction, sending knights to gather firewood and servants to retrieve the fine blankets from his chambers, trying to make Merlin as comfortable as possible. Gaius knew, however, that his actions ran deeper than practicality. The king hadn't even looked at Merlin since they had him settled, instead choosing to busy himself in whatever way he could. Gaius could sense his guilt. It rolled off of him in waves.

Once the room had finally been cleared and only three figures remained, Gaius approached Arthur cautiously. The man was exhausted, that much was evident. His dirty blond hair stuck out in multiple directions, his eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed on his feet doing nothing more than standing beside Merlin's cot. Gaius knew he was only trying to help, but his inconsolable need to do_ something_ was keeping Gaius from the one thing that needed his attention the most. Curing Merlin was going to be a heavy task, and Gaius had his doubts as to whether the boy would even survive the night. If Arthur was going to remain-Gaius sensed that not even magic would be able to rip him from Merlin's presence-then he needed him out of his hair until the messiest parts of the illness had passed. He knew what he must do.

"My lord, you must rest. If not, you'll soon be even worse off than Merlin here," Gaius admonished.

Arthur shook his head furiously, refusing to move from his vantage point in the corner of the room.

"I'm fine. I'm here to fix Merlin, and that task doesn't involve sleeping. Just tell me what I need to do to help, Gaius."

Gaius sighed. "Alright. At least drink a bit of water. That can't possibly injure your pride too much, can it?" he said, holding a goblet in front of the king's face.

Arthur hesitated before taking it. "I suppose," he muttered, before downing the liquid in one swift draft. He gagged audibly before turning back to the physician.

"That is foul! What on Earth, Gaius?!" Arthur spluttered. Suddenly, a powerful wave crashed over him. His skin began to warm and tingle, eyelids drooping.

"Well played, old man," Arthur murmured before Gaius gently supported him into Merlin's currently vacant bedroom, pulling a rough blanket up under his slack jaw and lolling head.

"Sorry, m'lord," Gaius pulled his mouth into a sad smile.

When he was certain the king was sound asleep, he closed the bedroom door and turned back to face Merlin's limp, ghastly form, refocusing on the important task at hand. Perhaps the most important one he would ever face.

It was like the steady calm before the storm, staring at Merlin in his most vulnerable state. He was so, so still. Too still.

Merlin began to seize.

Gaius had treated men who had become so feverish and ill that they had convulsed like this before. He willed himself to work efficiently, rushing to the bed and placing something soft beneath Merlin's head, knowing all he could really do was let the seizure run its course while he made sure his ward didn't slide from the bed and hurt himself. Merlin wasn't like his other patients, though. He wasn't anonymous. He was like a son, and as Gaius watched him writhe and sputter, he felt it become increasingly more difficult to keep his tears locked away. He knew how much his ward must hate this, being trapped inside his own ill body, powerless and exhausted.

Merlin's long limbs arched and twisted, spine taut like the string of a harp. His eyes were open, unseeing, rolled back in his head and exposing the whites of his eyes. He gasped violently for breath. Gaius cursed himself as he thought about the fact that he actually preferred Merlin in his corpse-like form to what was now occurring before him. Anything but this absolute nightmare of a display!

Finally, as the intensity of the fit died down, a steady stream of tremors worked their way through his bones, his head and eyes finally coming to rest while his body continued to shudder. Gaius let out a small sigh. What had felt like hours had in reality only lasted a couple of minutes.

"There you go, Merlin. That's it, almost over now," Gaius murmured soothingly, brushing the sweaty dark locks away from his forehead and placing a cool cloth on his neck. "Just rest now." Finally, the boy's pulse began to slow, taking some of Gaius' fear with it. Merlin moaned pitifully, quiet yet painful. Gaius placed an ice cold towel against his scalding hot forehead, pleased to see him lean in to the relieving sensation of the cool material. Responsiveness was a good sign.

As Gaius sat beside him, dabbing at his face with the cloth, desperate to lower his body heat lest he begin fitting again, the extent of his injuries became more and more apparent. The deep gash on Merlin's head hadn't gone unnoticed. It was actually downright gruesome, jagged and caked with dried blood, swollen flesh filling in around it. A concussion, no doubt, and a bad one. In the moment, though, Gaius knew that it wouldn't kill him. Not like the infection would. The other injuries would have to wait. He had him here, alive, for a bit longer, and that was all that mattered. He was determined to extend that time, and that meant prioritizing.

Gaius was a humble man. He had never thought of himself as inherently important to aiding Merlin in his destiny. The boy, though young, he recognized as a far greater man than himself. Even now, as he lay beneath the cool, experienced touch of Gaius' practiced palm, eyes rolling about uncontrollably underneath paper thin eyelids, life literally in the physician's hand, Gaius thought nothing of the warlock's immense power.

He just wanted to save his boy.

* * *

><p>Twenty feet away, just inches of rickety wall separated the sorcerer and his mentor from the king.<p>

Arthur was fighting desperately against the throes of the sleeping potion. He knew why Gaius had drugged him: he'd been manic, delirious, and obviously more trouble than assistance. But he couldn't help it. For no matter how hard he tried to assign the reasoning of his worry to the guilt he felt for causing Merlin to fall into this predicament-let's face it, he'd feel awful if he had done it to _anyone_-Arthur's heart knew better.

And as he finally, _finally_ managed to pry his eyes open and throw his unsteady feet over the side of Merlin's bed and stand, far sooner than he was supposed to against the effects of the heavy drug, Arthur's heart and mind finally caught up with one another.

And somewhere in between slowly making his way to the door of the bedroom and throwing it open to reveal the startled face of the kingdom's physician hunched over Merlin's convulsing body, Arthur knew.

He just wanted to save his friend.

The king knelt heavily beside Gaius next to the sickbed, staring straight ahead.

"How on Earth are you already awake?"

Arthur ignored him.

"Is he going to die, Gaius?"

"He may, sire."

"How long?"

Silence.

"Perhaps a few hours," Gaius' voice wavered.

Arthur's body tensed, yet he still managed to put a steady hand on Gaius' shoulder, staring directly into his aged eyes. Now was not the time to be playing the broken one. Merlin, idiot that he was, already had that role covered.

"Well then, you might as well just tell me what to do, Gaius, because I'm not going anywhere. Merlin lives, you hear?"

And just like that, the cogs began to turn. Both men burst into action, gathering supplies and provisions from all around the candle-lit chambers.

On the other side of the room, beside the dying fire, the young warlock's heart stopped beating, taking with it a final, definitive shudder.

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><p><strong>:o<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**SUMMARY: The key characters of Camelot each cope differently with the consequences of a tragedy. **

**An idea from a friend has inspired me to make this story a bit different than it was originally intended to be. Yes, this chapter is depressing, but bear with me! The climax will come in the next part, which will be the final chapter (I keep saying that...), but this part is definitely key to understanding the actions that will follow. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews thus far! This has been extremely fun to construct. As always, all comments are appreciated and highly encouraged! They really help me grow as a writer. Cheers!**

**I do not own Merlin or any of its characters.**

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><p><em><em>Previously...<em>_

_"Well then, you might as well just tell me what to do, Gaius, because I'm not going anywhere. Merlin lives, you hear?"_

_And just like that, the cogs began to turn. Both men burst into action, gathering supplies and provisions from all around the candle-lit chambers._

_On the other side of the room, beside the dying fire, the young warlock's heart stopped beating, taking with it a final, definitive shudder._

* * *

><p>With a surge of renewed determination, Arthur whipped his hands through the collection perched on the physician's rickety cupboard shelf, an assortment of glass bottles and clean cloths filling his arms one by one as he gathered the various items that Gaius had asked him to collect for Merlin. To his left, the old man pored over one of his many potion books, the crisp flipping of the yellowing pages the only sound that pierced the atmosphere as he worked feverishly to prepare an arsenal of various remedies for his ill ward. The two worked in urgent but comfortable silence, both moving with the fervor of resolute hope.<p>

There had been a moment when Gwen and a few of the knights had burst into the chambers, frantically pleading to offer their help, but Gaius had only shooed them away. It had been difficult enough trying to persuade Arthur away, and now that they had found a comfortable rhythm, he wanted nothing there to distract them. So the small group had retreated, reluctantly settling themselves outside Gaius' door until further notice. It really was quite a sight: the queen of Camelot and some of the finest knights in the kingdom, rubbing their faces anxiously as they sat on the cold hard stone outside a simple serving boy's door.

Once he had gathered everything he needed, Arthur turned around and began to approach Merlin's bed.

He froze, dead in his tracks.

Arthur felt hot blood rush in his ears and cold sweat erupt all over his body as he took in Merlin's still form.

"Merlin?" Arthur meekly whispered.

He mentally slapped himself and settled on one knee beside the bed.

"Merlin," he stated authoritatively, forcefully shaking a thin shoulder.

It didn't matter. Merlin wasn't breathing. Arthur heard the load in his arms clatter to the floor, but failed to feel it leaving his grasp.

"_Gaius!_" Arthur roared, no longer trying to mask his fear. The physician appeared beside him instantaneously, as if conjured from thin air.

"He's not breathing," Arthur frantically gestured towards Merlin's still chest.

Gaius hurriedly pushed Arthur aside, expression stony and unreadable. Gripping Merlin's wrist and unable to find a pulse, he pressed his ear into the middle of his chest, listening desperately. Silence.

With practiced hands, Gaius began to press rhythmically against Merlin's sternum, immediately followed by two long breaths into his airway, causing his chest to rise slowly with it. Over and over again he did this. Arthur, feeling completely helpless, could only watch, becoming progressively more unsettled as he saw Gaius' expression falter.

Suddenly, Gaius stopped. He rose, slowly. His mouth was slightly agape, and tears flowed freely down the crags of his weathered face as he stared at the dust on the floorboards, dazed.

Confused, Arthur rushed to Merlin's side, trying to mimic Gaius' actions, using his own hands to try and pump life back into his manservant.

"Gaius, help me! Please! I don't know how to do it properly!" Arthur cried, but Gaius only shook his head.

"He's...dead." Gaius whispered, speaking with an air of curiosity, as if he didn't quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

Arthur stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed, waiting for the "but". "But we can still save him." That's what Gaius was supposed to say. That's what he always says! But the "but" never came. Nothing but a long moment of suffocating silence filled the dusty air.

"No," Arthur scoffed, shaking his head and frowning. A mistake, this was just a misunderstanding. He looked to Gaius again, waiting for him to take back his words. The old man continued to stare at him vacantly.

"No!" his voice rose, mimicking that of a petulant child's whine. He looked between the two, Gaius and Merlin, frantically, refusing to acknowledge the truth. "Gaius, you're wrong! He was just here, he was alive, just a second ago!"

Still no response.

"NO!" He was screaming now, flinging himself back over Merlin's torso. He gripped the servant's face between both hands, noting that it had gone completely white. The sharp cheekbones, which had been flush with fever, with_ life_, only minutes before, were no longer warm. His entire body, in fact, was growing colder by the second.

"WAKE UP!" He was hitting him now, whacking his chest with all his might as Merlin's head lolled about lifelessly on his neck. Arthur felt the ribs crack beneath his hands, but he didn't care.

"COME." _Thwack_. "ON." _Thwack._ "YOU." _Thwack_. "COMPLETE". _Thwack_. "IDIOT!" With the final whack, the group from beyond the corridor burst through the door into the chambers, tumbling in at the sound of the king's hysterical screaming. Leon and Percival rushed to restrain him, each of them taking an arm and dragging him backwards, away from the bed, while he thrashed about viciously, trying to make his way back to Merlin's side. Gwen stood beside Gaius with her hands clasped to her mouth, while Gwaine slowly backed his way into the corner, looking as if he'd just seen a ghost.

"Gaius..." Gwen whispered shakily, hesitantly placing her hands on the physician's shoulders as the knights continued to struggle with Arthur. Gaius jerked out from beneath Gwen's touch, jolting back into reality. He looked into Gwen's distraught face with pleading eyes before turning to the mess of limbs that was the hysterical king and his guardians. Numbly, he moved to his worktable and picked up a small green bottle, moving back to Gwen and pressing it into her hands.

Gaius quietly began to instruct. "Leon. Percival. Please escort Arthur back to his chambers. The king is in shock. Gwen, I need you to give him this sleeping potion once he is placed in his bed. He will injure himself if he continues in this state."

"But Gaius..." Gwen was openly crying now.

"Just do as I say. Gwaine, I need you to find Arthur's squire. Please tell him I need to get a letter to Ealdor as quickly as possible. Merlin's mother, she must...she needs to know that her son is dead."

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><p>"Perhaps beneath the oak tree. The one next to the training grounds? I think Hunith would like that. It's quite beautiful. Perhaps we can have it at dawn, when the sun is coming up. Is that okay? Arthur?" Gwen peeked out from behind her changing apparatus. She quickly pulled her black gown over her head before striding over to her husband.<p>

Arthur was standing in front of the window next to their bed, staring out at the rain that had continually beat down upon Camelot for the past 48 hours.

Gwen stood behind him, snaking her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Arthur, I know it's only been two days..."

"Please don't, Gwen."

"We must discuss this, Arthur!"

"Let Gaius decide."

"You are the king, Arthur, and Merlin served in your court. He was also your friend. It is your duty to tend to his funeral arrangements. Gaius already has to deal with Merlin's mother, you cannot place this upon him too!"

Arthur abruptly disentangled himself from Gwen's embrace, striding to his wardrobe and clumsily pulling on a loose-fitting red shirt.

"Where are you going?" Gwen pleaded.

"Training."

"But-but why? Merlin's just _died_, surely training can wait a few days? At least put on a black tunic, you're supposed to be in mourning! Arthur!" Gwen was now begging her unresponsive husband.

Suddenly, Arthur gripped her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly as he looked into her eyes, speaking in a low hiss.

"It can't wait, Gwen. Training will not wait. Life in this kingdom will go on. Why? Because Merlin was a _servant_. That's it. And a poor one at that. He was...nothing to me. We must. Move. On." Arthur was trembling now.

"You should sit down, Arthur. You're shaking!"

Arthur straightened up quickly, wiping the shudder from his body before turning to leave. He whipped open the door, but kept his grip on the handle, slowly turning back to face his wife.

"It was his favorite color," Arthur spoke clearly, gesturing at the tunic before slamming the door shut, leaving Gwen with her palms pressed to her eyes, openly sobbing now with no one left to hear.

* * *

><p><em>Miss Hunith<em>—_  
>On behalf of the King, it is with much sorrow the Kingdom of Camelot must inform you that your son, Merlin, has passed away. More details will be given to you when you arrive in Camelot with our escorts for your son's procession. His Royal Highness King Arthur sends his deepest regrets.<br>_  
>Gaius nodded his approval, handing the brief note back to the page to be delivered to Ealdor. Deep down, he knew the letter was much too brief. Hunith would be crushed. Gaius, however, simply didn't have it in him to make any changes. He knew he was a coward, not going with Arthur's men to retrieve Hunith, but he knew what he would see when they delivered the news to her. It would be Merlin staring back at him in her eyes, and that terrified the old man.<p>

"Wait!" Gaius cried, quickly making up his mind and halting the man just before he made it to the door. "I need to amend it."

The letter was handed back, and Gaius reached for his quill and ink, leaning over the parchment. He hastily glanced over his shoulder, taking in the shape of Merlin's body, which had not been moved an inch since his death, but was now covered in a white sheet.

Gaius wrote quickly in the space beneath the body of the letter. His sprawling handwriting seemed ridiculously informal next to the sweeping regalia of the royal stationary.

_Hunith  
>I am sorry I have failed you. He was a son to me. I hope someday you can forgive me. I'm afraid I never will. -Gaius.<em>

* * *

><p>The sting of the rain on Percival's face was nothing compared to the harsh, rhythmic pounding of the king's dulled sword edge against his muscled body. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes approached the hour mark, but still Percival stood there, stoic and still.<p>

The training compound was soggy, the incessant downpour turning the well-maintained grass into nothing more than a muddy trench. The sky, despite the warm precursors of spring that had inhabited Camelot only days before, was now a dismal grey, spitting out the contents of its belly as if it were sick.

Up and down the sides of the field, the knights of Camelot formed a neat barrier, encompassing the boundaries of the sprawling turf. Each and every one of them was suited in a full set of armor, but their weapons lay limp at their sides, untouched. None of them had been expecting to be called in for a session. Ever since Merlin's death, a suffocating depression had encompassed the castle grounds, and a deathly quiet had emerged to accompany the rain, placing the kingdom in a state of stagnancy. Still, when the king had called them there early that morning, they had pushed their surprise aside and reported for duty.

Arthur was obviously distraught, and despite his efforts to appear unaffected in front of his men, the pain was evident, so much so that Leon had tried to coax the king back to his chambers at first sight of him. He obviously hadn't slept since emerging from the stupor of the sleeping drought, and his body had a continual, relentless tremble that coursed through him visibly. Still, Arthur refused to go with the knight, insisting that he was fine.

"Somebody spar with me!" Arthur had yelled, addressing the line of men. A few of them shifted uncomfortably, but nobody stepped forward.

"Come on, you bloody idiots! Quit treating me like a fragile maiden and fight me, dammit!"

Still, no one stirred.

"That's an order."

Slowly, Percival stepped out from the line, a perceptible squelch accompanying his gait as he made his way towards the center of the field. He faced Arthur, sword raised halfheartedly, and crouched into an offensive stance.

The two fought casually for a few minutes, engaged in their normal back and forth while the rest of the knights continued to watch from the sidelines.

Suddenly, images began flashing through Arthur's head. The rain became sweet morning sun, Percival became his manservant, and he was back. He was back in that moment, on that fateful day, sparring joyously with Merlin. And Arthur knew. He knew what came next. He could see the cliff, he could see Merlin's smile, right before he tipped back, back, back and over the edge.

Rage and guilt flooded Arthur's blood, and he re-emerged in his hellish reality, Merlin's face morphing back into Percival's. With the power of a thousand years' worth of inconsolable grief, Arthur unleashed everything he had upon the towering knight, relentlessly pounding blow after blow against the giant's torso.

On his part, Percival had quit fighting long ago, and he simply stood there, stock still, allowing the king to continually beat against his chest. Nobody dared move a muscle, the knights lining the field either bowing their heads or staring somberly at the scene before them.

And then it was over. Exhausted, Arthur fell to his knees, tossing his sword to the side with a loud splatter. He knelt, heaving in shuddering breaths and repeatedly clenching and unclenching his hands beneath his gauntlets.

He rose then, looking at no one and saying nothing, and simply strode off, a look in his gaze which told his men that he was not to be followed. So they remained, soaked in water and sorrow, watching their king walk away from them, left with the knowledge that there was nothing they could do or say that would wake them from this nightmare they were all living in.

* * *

><p>"I want you to use magic."<p>

Gaius lifted his head in alarm as Arthur burst through his door, standing with his arms crossed and dripping a steady stream of rain water onto the physician's floorboards. Gaius had been sifting through an assortment of objects on his shelves, trying to find anything he could that had belonged to Merlin to give to Hunith when she arrived.

"Sire, what did you say? I don't think you—"

Arthur quickly walked towards the old man, gripping his shoulders with both hands as he closed the gap between him. Gaius looked up at him with a stunned expression, noting that the king was panting, blond hair plastered to his face with sweat and water.

"I know what I'm saying, but I need you to listen to me. I want you to look at him—" Arthur whirled Gaius around so that he faced Merlin's covered body. "—and tell me that you wouldn't do anything to have him back. If you can do that, then I will leave here and I will do all of the stupid things that I know I should have done long ago. I'll arrange his funeral. I'll retrieve his mother. I'll wear black, and dammit, Gaius, I'll let him go. But only if you say it."

Gaius closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

"I can't," he said, reopening them, eyes trained on Arthur's.

Arthur nodded sharply. "Then do it. Use magic. I grant you permission."

"It's not that simple, sire."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I am not strong enough. Merlin has been dead for too long, and I am not naturally gifted with magic. I simply don't have enough power."

"The druids, then. We can bring him to them. They can heal him, I know it's been done before."

"No, Arthur. It isn't that simple."

"What, then, Gaius? There _must_ be a way. There must! There's a reason that magic's been banned in this kingdom. It's the most powerful weapon any man can wield! You're really going to tell me there's no way to bring him back? That—that is utter shit!" Arthur shook his head before looking down at the floor.

"I can't do this anymore. I need him to come back. He was…my greatest friend. A brother. I cannot go on without him." Arthur was whispering now, the words he had never spoken to anyone before now pouring out of him like an unstoppable waterfall.

Gaius stared for a moment before internally making a decision, escorting Arthur to a table and taking the seat across from him.

"Arthur, Merlin is—_was_—very…special," Gaius chose his words carefully. "To restart his heart would take more than just a powerful sorcerer. It would take a special bond, one intertwined with fate. You say you will do anything to get him back. Are you certain of this?"

"I swear it upon my father's grave."

Gaius took a deep breath.

"Then it is you, Arthur. You must be the one to use magic."

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><p><strong>Oi, this will be interesting...what do you think?<strong>


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